Jeff Karstens
I asked Jeff Karstens about his Major League debut, his complete game shutout against Randy Johnson, and what it felt like to pitch opposite Stephen Strasburg’s electric debut—and what I kept coming back to was this: the ballpark matters. You can feel it when a place is buzzing. When the crowd leans into every pitch. When a moment isn’t just a stat line, it’s a memory you hand to your mom. Whether it’s PNC on a perfect night or a sold-out Tuesday in D.C., Karstens reminded me: ballparks aren’t just where baseball happens—they’re where the game means something.
So, first thing I want to ask is your Major League debut. What do you remember from just maybe leaving the hotel, going there, and prepping—knowing that Ichiro is going to be the first guy you face?
What I vividly remember is getting the scouting report... and the entire nine quadrants for the fastball were all red. Not just light red—red. I was like, “Where are your outs with this guy?”
Luckily, maybe it was the luck of him never having seen me before, but being able to get him out in the first at-bat, I was like, “My god, this is amazing.” I just had this anxiety of wanting the game to start. Not nervous—just “Let it be 7 o’clock already.”
And we’re in the coaches’ meeting—me, Posada, Ron Guidry, and Joe Kerrigan. Posada’s talking, but he’s not really listening to me. I told him, “Fastball, slider, changeup—curveball’s rare.” And then in the first or second inning, he calls for a curveball. I’m terrified. I’m not going to shake him off—it’s Jorge Posada. So I throw it. And it sucks. It wasn’t good. But that’s what I remember—just doing whatever he told me.
Let’s jump to the Randy Johnson game. That was in Arizona, right? Your complete game shutout?
Yeah. That game... I mean, making the playoffs in Pittsburgh was special, but I didn’t really contribute. My debut was cool. But this game—facing Randy Johnson, having played with him, knowing how intimidating he was... That was different.
My buddy told me, “I bet you $20 you don’t even foul a ball off.” I’m like, “Bro, I’m at least bunting. You don’t think I’m gonna try?”
First inning—four of the first six outs are fly balls to center. I’m thinking, “I’m not making it past the third.”
Then I get my first at-bat. I’m just trying not to strike out. And I get a hit. I’m running to first thinking, “Holy s***, I just got a hit off Randy Johnson.” But I’m not looking at him. I’m looking straight at the first base coach.
And then your third at-bat?
Yeah. First pitch slider. I’m thinking, “Okay, that’s respect.” Next pitch—base hit to left field. I’m standing on first like, “What is happening?”
Then I go first to third on a bloop, and Doug Mientkiewicz drives me in. I remember getting to the dugout—nobody’s talking to me. I’m like, “F*** you guys, I’m not that guy. I want to talk during the game.”
So I go back out for the eighth. Two quick outs. Then Chris Young—slider didn’t slide. He barrels it. There goes the no-hitter. So I shift: now it’s about finishing the shutout.
Next inning, I walk the leadoff guy. Raul Chavez comes out and says, “You want to finish this or not?” I say, “Yes.” He goes, “Then let’s f***ing go.”
Get a double play. Two outs. Last batter, Orlando Hudson, grounds to first. I get the flip and step on the bag. I give that ball to my mom—she was there. That moment... that was the one.
That’s magic, man. So now Strasburg’s debut—D.C., 2010. That place was electric, right?
Dude, it was like a playoff game in June. We’re pulling into the stadium and fans are already lined up. Not BP fans—game fans. Everyone’s looking for video of this guy.
He comes out throwing 97, 98, with a disgusting changeup and hammer curve. Guys were swinging and missing by a mile. They’d come back to the dugout and just go, “Good luck.”
That atmosphere—was it the closest thing you’d experienced to the postseason?
Yeah. That was the loudest, most electric regular season game I’d ever pitched in. The crowd was on every pitch. You could feel it. It was like something out of a movie—like The Rookie. I wanted to be the guy who beat him. I wanted to spoil his debut. And I almost did.
You actually had the lead at one point, right?
We were up 2–1. Delwyn Young hit a homer off a changeup. I’m thinking, “This might actually happen.”
But then in the sixth, I give up back-to-back homers to Adam Dunn and Josh Willingham. And I’m just like, “F***.”
I felt like I let myself down. It sounds selfish, but I wanted to represent San Diego. Strasburg’s from there too. I wanted people to say, “Wow, that guy from San Diego outdueled the phenom.” That was the moment I wanted—and I blew it.
It’s wild that they lined you up to pitch against him, too.
I think I was supposed to pitch the day before, but they brought Brad Lincoln up instead. Didn’t want him to debut against Strasburg. So I went the next day.
I didn’t realize until later how special that night really was.
And again, I’ve got to ask—being in that stadium, under those lights, feeling that energy... did it feel sacred?
Absolutely. You could feel it in the concrete. In the air. Fans, media, everything was buzzing. Every pitch had weight. And it wasn’t just about Strasburg—it was about what baseball can be when a park is alive. That was something else.
Last thing—how do you look back on PNC Park? What did that place mean to you?
You know, when it’s your home park, it’s just “the park.” But after I left? You realize how special it is. The skyline, the fans, the way the field opens up to the river. On a clear summer night, it’s like a cathedral. It’s where everything feels a little bigger. A little more real.
NOTE: The above was edited for clarity and length.
You can read the full transcript here.